


Divided

by Thimblerig



Series: On the Decks of La Sirena [1]
Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s01e03 The End is the Beginning, Flesh and Bone-AI Gestalt Solidarity, Gen, Tragic Sense of Life, settling in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: The EHH’s own hand is neither warm nor cold - it is difficult for Holograms to project temperature and mostly they don’t bother - but his grip is firm and friendly...
Relationships: Agnes Jurati & La Sirena's Emergency Hospitality Hologram
Series: On the Decks of La Sirena [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634554
Comments: 36
Kudos: 76





	Divided

**Author's Note:**

> This was tweaked slightly after I saw ep 4, to match up with the Emergency Hospitality Hologram that we see.
> 
> (For what it's worth, my version had a French accent.)

The Hologram is as long and lanky as Captain Rios though far more kempt, wrapped in loose trousers and a dark turtleneck that slops too long over his wrists. He matches his pace easily to Agnes’s shorter legs as they progress through the echoing halls of _La Sirena._ As they walk the maze of corridors, she sees Admiral Picard vanish around a corner.

“I’m putting you in Tier 3, on the port side,” he explains in a flat twangy accent, “it’s quite comfortable. Lovely views.” The Hologram checks approximately 1.2 seconds, head cocking at a 10 degree difference. Voice gentle, he adds, “And, statistically, the safest berth in the ship.”

“It’s not - I’m not -” stutters Agnes.

“We receive guests so rarely...” His head straightens and tiny muscles in his face shift, implying a quiet smile, crow’s-feet, twinkling eyes - it’s beautifully done. “My honour is at stake. The best room in the house or nothing!”

She smiles back, quick and fleeting. “What may I call you?”

“I am the Emergency Hospitality Hologram (I don’t get out much). You may call me EHH, or Steward, or, in a pinch -” The Hologram puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles piercingly.

Agnes tips her head briefly in acknowledgement. “Dr Jurati,” she says back, offering her hand. “Or Agnes, either is fine.”

The EHH’s own hand is neither warm nor cold - it is difficult for Holograms to project temperature and mostly they don’t bother - but his grip is firm and friendly. “Of the Daystrom Institute, is that correct?”

“Yes, though I specialised in discrete-mind, solid-body projects, not -”

“A jumped-up User Interface?”

“Hey now,” Agnes chides.

“I am what I am,” says the Steward.

They pass along a long corridor, footsteps echoing. Through the open door of the Mess she sees Captain Rios and Ms Musiker leaning towards each other, resting on their elbows at a galley table, intimate as lovers or intriguers. A low-set lamp casts their faces in chiaroscuro - her wild hair, his glittering eyes, the glass bottle between them... one hand covering another. They do not look up, as Agnes and the Hologram walk by.

“I… trust the Captain won’t get to you,” the Steward says after a pause of 3.7 seconds. “He is a touch prickly. Sometimes. But not, I think, mean.”

Agnes watches his face.

“Just whap him on the nose with a rolled up newspaper if he gets a bit much,” he adds, “or bounce a ball off his head. He loves that.”

“... Okay?”

The Steward grins.

“What model are you?” she asks, as they climb wire-grid steps that echo underfoot.

“Our base is an EH Mk 7.2, which was reskinned 2394. _La Sirena’s_ AI has been adjusting the algorithms of all its Hologram instances since then.

“Continuous memory span or do you run data purges?”

“Continuous,” the EHH says smugly. “And not a bug to speak of. Barely a pixellation fragment at all.”

Agnes curls her fingers loosely and bumps knuckles lightly against his as they walk.

“And here we are!” the Steward announces.

Her room is small and efficiently arranged. She is reminded of the string of low budget hotel rooms and hostels she has stayed in on the conference circuit - the bed neatly made, the furnishings impersonal, packages of toiletry and generic sleepwear... Only two things alter: a window through which the stars burn fierce and unblinking; a branching spray of apple blossom in a glass - replicated, surely, but fresh and dewy and delicate.

“Breakfast is at 0800 hours,” the Steward says briskly, “I note you brought no luggage: the berth replicator is sufficient for the basics but there is a better clothing menu available in the Mess unit. I am available on request, call, or whistle. Any questions?”

“Yes,” says Agnes, stopping and cocking her own head. “Are you satisfied with your condition?”

“All systems nominal,” he says. His crow’s-feet crinkle again and his eyes shine brighter: charming.

Agnes waits.

The Hologram’s eyes dip a fraction, reflective. “‘If the sun possessed consciousness it would think, no doubt, that it lived in order to give light to the worlds,’” he quotes. “‘But it would also and above all think that the worlds existed in order that it might give them light and enjoy itself in giving them light and so live. And it would think well.’” He nods decisively.

“Okay, then.” Agnes smiles at him. “It was nice to meet you, Steward.”

The EHH puts his hand over his heart, and bows slightly, before dissolving in soft light.

The apple blossom smells wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> // "If the sun possessed consciousness" - from _Tragic Sense of Life,_ by Miguel de Unamuno, the book Rios was reading before talking to Picard - I used the Dover translation hosted by Project Gutenberg here: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/14636/14636-h/14636-h.htm


End file.
